I keep mentioning that I am reading The Journal of Jules Renard but I’ve not said much about it. When I first began it I was disappointed because it is not whole journal entries like I expected. Instead it is snips of entries, at least what must be snips of entries unless Renard really did only write one to two sentences at a time. Given that there are some longer snips of a few paragraphs and occasionally a page or two, I assume the short entries are taken from longer ones.

Before I began the book I had no idea who Renard was other than that he was some French writer who knew lots of famous people. So far in my reading, he has written a couple of well received and popular novels and now he is writing plays that are also well received. If his creative writing is anything like his journal writing they are filled with beautiful sentences, descriptions and metaphors. Whereas in the beginning the short snippets bothered me, as I have gone along, I find myself wishing I could write a sentence like he can.

So without further ado, here are some of those snips for your reading pleasure:

  • It is, when all is said and done, when faced with the subject of death that we feel most bookish.
  • I don’t mind signing the petition for Oscar Wilde, with the proviso that he will give his word of honor to stop–writing.
  • There are storytellers and there are writers. You can tell any story you like; you cannot write whatever you like: you write only yourself.
  • A line of verse is always to a certain extent a cage for thought.
  • Trees with the rough hide of a rhinoceros.
  • Seated at the edge of the canal, facing the cemetery, I read to the memory of my father.
  • Pigeons. Their flight has the sound of the smothered laughter of girls, of nuns in a convent.

That’s only a small sampling and I am barely halfway through the book! This book is proving to be filled with gems.

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